


Services Rendered

by Rasalahuge



Series: Deus ex Mycroft [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Fix-It, Gen, Supernatural Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasalahuge/pseuds/Rasalahuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Services rendered: The completion of a service that has been requested by clients that has resulted in a request for payment.</p>
<p>Alternately: Sam and Dean meet Mycroft Holmes and surprisingly no one gets shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Services Rendered

  


**Services Rendered  
Alternately: Sam and Dean meet Mycroft Holmes and no one gets shot**

 

The first Sam and Dean knew of the cosmic shift that had happened in Heaven was when their car suddenly started to be followed. Dean noticed first, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel, and pressed down just a little harder on the gas pedal.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam said urgently and Dean glanced at him seeing that his brother’s hazel eyes were fixed on the road in front. Sure enough, when Dean looked, a nondescript black car with blacked out windows virtually identical to the one following them, was slipping back in the traffic so it was positioned right in front of the Impala.

Three more identical cars appeared in short order, surrounding the Impala and making their point extremely clear. The two brothers shared a look but didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. Sam checked his phone and was unsurprised to find he had no signal and thus no chance of contacting someone who might be able to help. Grimly the brothers continued to drive, letting themselves be led into a trap.

After ten minutes they pulled up outside a building that appeared as nondescript as the cars, just another building on a street of them in the outskirts of Chicago, not even a sign to indicate why they were here. Dean pulled the Impala to a halt right in front of the doors, simply because there was nowhere else he could stop. The cars that had escorted them blocked the entire street and the moment they stopped a large number of men and women in black suits and sunglasses seemed to appear from nowhere. The two brothers shared another look. All of them were clearly armed with guns, to say nothing of what sort of creatures they might be, and they outnumbered the brothers ten to one. Not only that but they were also out on a very public street and enough casual onlookers had stopped to try and get a glimpse of whatever was going on.

“I don’t like this,” Dean said as he turned the engine off on the Impala and reached for his door. Sam didn’t reply, there was no need for one.

The moment they stepped outside of the car a woman appeared from the main door to the building. She was dark haired with smooth pale skin and, frankly staggeringly beautiful. In the trimmed black suit and heels and with a dismissive look on her face as she focused on the blackberry in her hand however the effect was somewhat intimidating. _She_ , unlike those cutting off the Winchester’s escape, was not obviously armed. Whether that was because she felt secure that they wouldn’t attack with so many witnesses and opponents or because she didn’t need to be armed was unclear.

“He’s waiting inside,” She informed them in a clipped tone, her eyes not wavering from the phone in her hands.

“Best not to keep him waiting then,” Dean drawled sarcastically. The woman turned and headed back into the hotel and the two brothers took the hint that they were to follow. 

The outside of the building might have been ordinary yet as they went in they were faced with what was clearly an office of some sort but one where elegance and opulence were the key words when it came to decoration. Tasteful marble, beautiful frescoes and gold leaf covered every surface as staff walked around in sharp, tailored suits. For two men who had spent their lives on the road, hustling for money in bars, living out of dirt cheap motels and hunting things that went bump in the night it was daunting. If they had been brought to an empty warehouse in the middle of nowhere they might have felt more at ease, as it was the whole situation was setting every last instinct they had on edge.

The woman with the blackberry led the two of them through the opulent entrance hall and up a set of grand stairs that wouldn’t look out of place in one of the vast Renaissance palaces of Europe. From there they went down a single hall before stopping outside a set of carved oaken doors.

“He’s inside,” The woman said and then turned and walked away, never once did her eyes lift from the phone. Sam met his brother’s eyes, asking a single silent question. They hadn’t been searched; there was no one here keeping an eye on them and no one stopping them from just turning around and finding a way out of this place. Of course that was half of the reason it was such an unsettling situation.

“Want to see why we’re here?” Dean asked casually knowing Sam picked up on everything that Dean didn’t say.

“He did go to all this trouble,” Sam replied just as easily, assured his own message was well received. The younger brother reached out to the door handles as Dean reached for his hidden gun. By the time Sam pushed the doors open Dean was covering him, ready to shoot whatever lay on the other side of the wood.

“Misters Winchester and Winchester,” A cool, calm and smooth voice said the moment the door opened. “Gentlemen thank you for coming,” The lilting English accent was strangely enticing as the two brothers studied the situation they had just walked into. Behind the doors was an office, just as opulent as the rest of the building had been but perhaps slightly more comfortable. Inside a man sat at a desk clearly dealing with a large pile of paperwork.

At first glance he didn’t seem much. He wore a crisp, tailored suit in a soft dark grey with a silver brocade waistcoat, crisp white shirt and gun-metal grey tie which offset against his dark hair, caught somewhere between mahogany and ginger. Sharp features were older than Dean and Sam by perhaps a decade and his manicured hands were soft as they clasped the silver fountain pen. Physically he didn’t look like a threat. But then most of the monsters the Winchester’s hunted didn’t look like a threat.

Then his eyes lifted from the paper before him and both hunters found themselves frozen like dear in headlights, every instinct that had been screaming at them that something was wrong now screamed at them to submit. To back down from this, to recognise that this man-shaped being before them was the apex, the one hunter that could and would put them down. Sam and Dean however had not backed down from a dominance fight since their father died and they would not start now.

“Thanks for the invitation,” Dean grunted, keeping his gun pointed steadily at the man as Sam reached for his own weapon, the slightly more useful angel blade. “How about you tell us who and what you are and what you want with us before I fill you full of holes,”

“The weapons won’t be necessary gentlemen,” The man said instead setting his pen aside. “I am not here to harm you and I certainly don’t pose a threat to you. I only wish to speak, after that you will be free to go on your way,” The man was eerily calm for someone facing down a gun; it was the sort of calm that came paired with amused derision and a creature that knew the bullets couldn’t hurt it.

“Yeah thanks but if it’s all the same to you we’ll hold on to them,” Sam cut in sharply and the man sighed, just slightly.

“Suit yourself,” he said sitting back in his chair. The two hunters watched as he reached into a drawer, tensing as he pulled something out only to reveal a rather thick dossier in a plain manila folder. The man set it down in front of him and took his time opening it and flicking through the first few pages. Sam and Dean were perfectly aware that he was doing so in order to put them further off balance and so they didn’t move, just waited for him to finish.

“Dean Michael and Samuel Lucian Winchester, born to John Graham and Mary Elizabeth Winchester. After tragically losing a mother at a young age you were raised as hunters of the supernatural by your father who was obsessed with finding his wife’s murderer. A fairly average history, for those with a hunter’s background, until one Jessica Moore was murdered in her home precisely twenty three years after Mary Winchester in precisely the same manner, although not by the same culprit. Thus setting off a chain reaction of events which culminated in the failed Apocalypse,” The man recited blandly closing the folder and looking back up at the two hunters. He leant forward so his elbows were resting on the table and his chin was propped on interlocked fingers as those strange silver eyes studied them. “Quite fascinating really,”

“So you know our history, lots of people do. What are you getting at?” Dean snapped, his patience fraying.

“Nothing,” The man replied, “Just ensuring you are aware that I _do_ know your history.” He studied them for a moment longer and they shifted uncomfortably, not daring to let their grips on their weapons waver. Whatever the man saw in them he seemed to be satisfied because he sat back in his chair and gave them a bland, emotionless smile. “You will be pleased to know that the civil war in Heaven has ended within minimal collateral damage. I am sure your angelic friend, Castiel I believe, will confirm it once his negotiations with Raphael over terms are concluded.”

“How do you know about that?” Sam asked, his hand slipping from a ready position out of shock.

“I am not without my means,” The man answered simply. “Suffice to say that you have little to fear from Heaven, in fact you need not concern yourselves with its goings on any further. You are free to return to your more usual cases,” The man’s hands returned to the drawer and this time he pulled out two thick envelopes. He set them down on the table and slid them forward, “One for each of you,”

“What is this?” Dean asked as Sam took half a step forward to get a closer look.

“Consider it… payment for services rendered,” The man said simply. “You won’t find many people aware of the supernatural and of all that went on during the failed Apocalypse that have the necessary resources for this. However I have never been the sort of man to leave good deeds unrewarded.” The two brothers shared a sceptical look however Sam reached out and took the packet addressed to him anyway. He opened it under the watchful eyes of his brother and this stranger and pulled out several extremely interesting items.

The first was what appeared to be bank statements, presumably to go with the black bank card that fell out with it. Alongside those was what appeared to be Sam’s criminal record, a sheet detailing medical insurance and a small black leather wallet similar to those that the brothers used for their fake federal agent badges. Inside the wallet was an ID but rather than for the FBI it was for MI6 and not only was it in Sam’s real name it was also very clearly not fake.

“What is this?” Sam breathed looking up from the paperwork, card and ID.

“It is exactly what it appears to be,” The man replied, “As I said, payment for services rendered. You gentlemen saved the world, the few of us who understand that and are in a position to do something about it wished to see that rewarded. Your status as MI6 agents is retroactive and should clear up any issues you’ve had with the police in the past, your records are clean gentlemen. I’ve also taken the liberty to backdate your paycheques, with reasonable overtime and hazard pay of course, to your eighteenth birthdays. There should also be compensation for injury and emotional distress. In short, you no longer need to concern yourselves with costs associated with hunting.” The man paused and pulled a sheet of paper out of the file in front of him and placed that on the edge of the desk closest to them. “Contacts, legitimate ones, for when you use the IDs on crime scenes. No need to have Mr Singer fake credentials. I realise the MI6 will raise questions about jurisdiction but I’m sure you can deal with those and, quite frankly, being foreign agents should cover the small things you can’t fake. There are also contact details for a reliable and trustworthy therapist, already briefed on the supernatural, willing to see you remotely through skype, though I don’t expect that you’ll take it the offer remains.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the catch?”

“And don’t say there isn’t one. There always is,” Dean added gruffly, although his gun had progressively lowered as the man spoke until it pointed at the floor somewhat uselessly.

“No catch,” The man replied calmly.

“Yeah, if there’s no catch why are you here _now_? Where were you when this whole thing went down?” Dean demanded.

“Busy, unfortunately,” The man replied, “Though I doubt I would have gotten much more involved than I did, I don’t associate with the supernatural very often. There are systems and checks in place, or there are supposed to be, which means I don’t have to deal with it. I have my hands quite full enough as it is. However the situation with Heaven became such that I had to step in and get involved. I opted to take the chance to meet with you in person,”

“What did you do?” Sam asked slipping the paperwork and id back into the envelope.

“I arranged the negotiations that are currently ongoing.” The man smiled enigmatically, “It’s quite surprising how quickly one can overcome dislike when forced to cooperate for the betterment of all,”

“You threatened them?” Sam read between the lines, astonished.

“Nothing so droll or uncivilised,” the man replied calmly, “I simply made it very clear the consequences if they failed to reach an agreement.”

“So you threatened them,” Dean’s hands tightened around the grip of his gun once more.

“If you prefer to see it that way. I personally prefer it as disciplining them,” The man quirked a small knowing smirk, as if the Winchester’s were missing something obvious. “Well gentlemen?” He enquired, “Any further questions?”

“Yeah, what do you want?” Dean growled, “And give us a straight answer this time. You must want _something_ ,”

“Well of course I do,” The man replied, his eyes lighting up in amusement and condescension in equal amounts. “I just don’t want anything in return for what I have given you.” He sat back once more in his seat adjusting the sleeves of his suit jacket, “That is a gift. For services rendered. If you leave here today having refused the offer I am about to present to you then you may still keep those as gifts to use, or not use, as you like,”

“What offer?” Sam cut in before Dean could spout something very negative and also extremely rude at the response.

“I am merely hoping to be kept up to date on goings on over here,” The man said, “Quite simply I do not want things to reach such dire circumstances again. The checks and balances should be reinstalled with the end of the civil war however I find my trust in those checks rather shaken and I am not a man to trust easily.” He smiled blandly. “My offer is this. In return for reports on goings on in the supernatural world, oh say every three months or so, I will arrange a regular pay check, though with what I have already given you that shouldn’t be an issue. Access to some of the most highly restricted libraries and databases on the planet to aide in your research, equipment as and when you need it and of course if I catch wind of any case or information of use to you I will pass it along as a matter of priority,”

“You want to hire us as your personal hunters,” Dean said flatly, “Thanks but no thanks. Had someone try to do that not so long ago and it didn’t work out so well,”

“Please I would rather you didn’t compare me to Mr Crowley,” The man sniffed with very clear disdain, “I realise as Americans you naturally make connotations after meeting two English gentlemen in well-tailored suits however I am not, and never shall be, anything like the King of Hell,” Those silver eyes were fixed on them now and once again their instincts started to scream at them. “I will not threaten, nor extort you. I do not need to. Your reports on the supernatural would be helpful but are not necessary and I would never presume to dictate your hunts to you. I am merely suggesting a mutual exchange of services to make our lives easier.”

“You say you are not a man to trust easily, surely then you can understand why we’d be hesitant to trust as well?” Sam cut in knowingly, “After all it was barely more than a couple of days ago when I was running around without a soul,”

“An unfortunate state of affairs,” The man nodded in acknowledgement, “Very well gentlemen, I do understand completely. I shall give you some time to consider my offer and of course to reassure yourselves that my gift is genuine. I shall be in touch within the next month,” With that the man leant over and pressed a button on the intercom. “My dear our guests are ready to leave now.”

“Wait a sec,” Dean cut in, picking up his own envelope as well as the list of contacts even as the doors behind them, which neither brother remembered closing, opened to reveal the woman with the blackberry from before. “You never gave us a name, or told us _what_ you are,”

“I didn’t did I?” The man mused, once more clearly entertained. “You may call me Mycroft Holmes. As for what I am? Well you’ll find out soon enough I’m sure. My dear?” He looked over at the woman.

“This way please,” She said and started to walk back down the corridor. The two brothers shared a look but then without glancing back at the man, Holmes, turned and followed her.

It wasn’t until they were back in the Impala with no sign of any of the cars or spooks that had detained them that either of them spoke again.

“Is it just me or was that extremely creepy?” Dean asked and Sam huffed.

“Extremely creepy,” He said looking down at the contents of his envelope, “Dean if this is genuine… there’s over a million dollars in this account and I bet yours is the same,” he said and Dean looked down at the envelope and swallowed.

“Even if it is genuine how do we know where the money came from? I mean the badges seem legit, I’ve seen enough fake ones even if not for MI6 but why would the British Secret Service want anything to do with us?” Dean’s brow furrowed as he warred with himself over the envelope. “How do we know he’s not a criminal?”

“Who can arrange a federal escort for one car in a country that’s not his own?” Sam asked pointedly, “Dean I really think we should be overestimating this guy not underestimating him,”

“How can we be sure?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. We can search his name later but I suppose the best way to check would be to call Cas, see if he knows anything?” Sam asked with a shrug.

“You think he was telling the truth about Cas and Raphael calling a cease fire?” Dean asked shaking his head, “Dude, maybe he talked to them; I don’t know but do you really think Raphael is going to just back down?”

“Depends on who this guy is,” Sam answered, “It can’t hurt to check and maybe it will give us some answers,”

“We’ll call,” Dean agreed, “But first let’s get the hell out of here,”

“Agreed,” Sam said unable to shake the urge to flee from those silver eyes that still felt like they were watching every move the brothers made.

The Impala tore away from the curb leaving the office and its mysterious occupant behind.


End file.
